I Think of Bread and Water and the Roots of a Tree All Wet

A description of the freeway
Lost
Looking for a city.
I come back
To geese.
Rain falls
On the parking meters
Glass and steel are shining
But people
Are dark
All the way through.

Landscape of Night

Each night
Is a lake
That rises at sundown
Spreads itself thin
Laps at
The house lights
Fills up low shoes
Would make fish of us all.